


We stand a little closer

by Dansnotavampire



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Because brinn and kit told me to, M/M, Pining, Post-Apocalypse, Tender hand touching, Vaguely post TMA 160 but you do not need to know tma to read it, inspired by a song, its about the hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-24 19:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22083580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dansnotavampire/pseuds/Dansnotavampire
Summary: It's been three months, two weeks and four days since the end of the world. Zolf is still, somehow, alive.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Zolf Smith
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	We stand a little closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madnessiseverything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/gifts).



> haps birth luna!   
> inspired by the song Ophelia by Karine Polwart, which the title is taken from

It's been three months, two weeks and four days since the end of the world. Were it not for the tragedy of the situation, Zolf would find this fact rather amusing - after all, he didn't expect that the all-seeing end would come within his lifetime (or that he would live through it. There's… a lot that he didn't expect to live through.) 

It's been three months, two weeks and four days since the end of the world, since the sky opened its terrible eye and  _ saw _ , since all fear became amplified in its infinite knowability, and Zolf hasn't done anything to fix it. Can't do anything to fix it, doesn't know what happened, what went wrong. 

("It's not your job to fix it," Hamid had whispered to him at three a.m. the night before, when they were sat on the sofa together, their sleep disturbed separately by nightmares and by guilt. 

"I know it isn't," Zolf had replied. "But that doesn't mean- I should be able to, Hamid. I should- I  _ need  _ to help." 

Hamid had sighed, and laid his head on Zolf's shoulder. Their hands never touched.) 

They had found each other twelve days ago, after three months of separation, after they got lost - separated -  _ parted _ , as if by some cosmic hand, and Zolf had resigned himself to never seeing his - him -  _ Hamid  _ again. He had shown up, by some miracle, at Zolf's door. "Sorry," he had panted, breathless, "I got lost - there was… It's so much, Zolf." 

He had tugged Hamid into his arms, held him there with a grip so tight it almost hurt. Hamid's own arms came around him a bare second later, sharp nails digging into his back, solid and painful and  _ real,  _ so fucking real. 

One of them started crying first, but neither could tell who. It didn't matter. Zolf pulled away first, though, put his hands on Hamid's shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "I thought I'd lost you," he said, voice thick with tears.

"I- I didn't mean to be gone so long. I won't- I won't leave again, I promise." A pause, a sigh, a shiver at the cold wind. "Shall we go inside?" 

The twelve days since have been... strange. Tense. The halfway mark between saying "I love you," and being too afraid of being known. (A fitting fear, given the situation.) Every tender touch fleeting, every emotional word bitten back and talked around, every act of kindness done as anonymously as possible. 

(Their hands had never touched) 

"Zolf?" comes Hamid's voice from the garden, tugging Zolf out of his mind. "Come here!" 

Immediately a line of fear arcs down Zolf's spine, and he rushes to the garden. "What's happened? Are you okay - has something gone wrong?" 

Hamid laughs, lightly. "No,- I just wanted to spend time with you. We haven't really talked, not properly, and- and I missed you. I miss you." 

"Why? I'm right here, Hamid." 

_ (I'm always here, if you need me.)  _

Hamid sighs, waves his wine glass. "No, - you haven't been yourself, I haven't- I- things haven't been the same, Zolf. I want to know that you're okay. I want  _ us _ to be okay, even if we can't save the world this time." And then, quieter, softer, as if saying the words too loudly will break something, "I want there to be an us. If there can." 

He half-extends his hand to Zolf, the gesture as sure as it is shy. The light from the sky is a sickly yellow, washing out Hamid's skin, and the not-quite-wind still hums its eerie tune in the background, but Hamid is smiling in a way that Zolf hasn't seen - hasn't taken the  _ time  _ to see - in three and a half months, tender and fragile and delicate and  _ brilliant _ , illuminating his entire face. He's  _ prett _ y; there's no other word for it, and Zolf loves him, always has. He doesn't say it, can't say it, won't speak such a tender truth into a word that could make him fear it, but he steps towards Hamid, rests his head on his shoulder. 

This time, their hands touch. 


End file.
